Blake Pierce - If She Fled

“When are you leaving?” he asked.

“I don’t know. DeMarco is in charge of the itinerary. Sometime tonight. Alan…I’m sorry.”

He said nothing, looking away as he sat down on the couch with Michelle. “It is what it is,” he finally said. “And don’t feel too bad…I still have a pretty hot date here.”

“Don’t be silly, Alan. I’ll call Melissa and explain things to her.”

“No. If they need the respite, let them have it. As you might know, I am fully capable of watching after this little one.”

“Alan, I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that!”

“And you never would. Which is why I am volunteering it.”

Kate came over to the couch and sat next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Do you know how incredible you are?”

He shrugged. “Do you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, sensing some resentment in his tone.

“I mean, this thing with you and your work. It was supposed to be an every now and then thing, right? And honestly, to be fair, it has been. But when it’s on, it’s on. They want you to drop everything and come running when they call.”

“It’s part of the job, though.”

“A job you retired from two years ago. Did you really miss it that much?”

“Alan…that’s not fair.”

“Maybe not. I won’t pretend to know what kind of lure that job holds over you. But I’m on the same sidelines as Melissa and Michelle. There’s only so much more of this I’m going to be able to take.”

“If you feel so strongly, I won’t take this one. I’ll call Duran back and—”

“No. You need to take it. I don’t want you taking it out on me or your daughter if you let it pass you by. So, go. Take it. But coming from someone who is rapidly falling more and more in love with you, I feel I should tell you that you need to have some hard conversations when you come back. With me, your daughter, and maybe even yourself.”

Kate’s first reaction was one of anger and resentment. But maybe he was right. After all, hadn’t she realized her decision was borderline selfish just several moments ago? She’d be fifty-six in three weeks. Maybe it was time she finally drew up some boundaries in terms of her work. And if it meant that her special little set-up with Duran and the bureau came to an end, so be it.

“Alan…I need you to be honest. If me taking this is going to strain us…”

“It won’t. Not this time. But I don’t know how much longer it can go on into the future.”

She opened her mouth to respond but her phone rang, interrupting her. She checked the display and saw that it was Jo DeMarco, the young woman who had been serving as her partner for the last year, riding along on this little experiment between her and the FBI.

“It’s DeMarco,” she said. “I need to get travel details.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to clear it with me.”

What she didn’t say but felt deep in her heart was: Then why do I feel like I have to?

It was a question she did not feel like wrestling with at the moment. And, as she had been doing when presented with questions like this over the last few months, she turned her attention to work. With a sting of guilt, she answered the call.

“Hey, DeMarco. What’s up?”

Both Kate and DeMarco had managed to grab a bit of sleep on the red-eye flight from DC to Chicago. But in Kate’s case, it had been a very broken nap at best. When she stirred awake during descent into Chicago at 6:15, she didn’t feel very rested. Her thoughts instantly turned to Melissa, Michelle, and Alan. The guilt slammed into her like a brick as she had watched Chicago appear in the soft light of dawn through the plane window.

She spent that first moment in Chicago hating herself. It got better as she and DeMarco made their way through the airport and to the rental car desk.

Now, as they drove into the small town of Frankfield, Illinois, the guilt was still there but little more than a ghost in her head, rattling chains and creaking floorboards.

DeMarco was behind the wheel, sipping on Starbucks she had picked up in O’Hare. She glanced over at Kate, who was looking out the window, and nudged her.

“Okay, Wise,” DeMarco said. “There’s a big fat elephant in the room and it stinks. What’s going on? You look miserable.”

“We at the let’s-go-deep level yet?”

“Weren’t we always?”

Kate sat up and sighed. “I was babysitting Michelle when I realized I missed a call from Duran. I had to bail. Worse than that, I left her with Alan because Melissa and her husband are going through some stuff. It’s kind of eating me up.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” DeMarco said. “But you could have just told him no. You’re not under a strict contract or anything, right?”

“Right. But saying no isn’t as easy as you’d think. I fear I’m putting too much into this. I think it’s how I’m finding my purpose.”

“Being a grandmother isn’t enough purpose?” DeMarco asked.

“Oh, it is. I just…I don’t know.”

She trailed off here and DeMarco let her have her silence…for a moment. “So, this case,” DeMarco said. “Looks pretty plain, right? You read the files?”

“I did. And it does seem pretty cut and dry. But with no leads or clues or even the slightest suggestion from local law enforcement, it’s going to be a challenge.”

“So…the latest victim was a fifty-four-year-old woman. At home alone two afternoons ago. No signs of forced entry. Discovered by the husband when he arrived home from work. Looks like it was brutal strangulation that cut deep into her neck.”

“And that might be the smoking gun right there,” Kate said. “What the hell do you strangle someone with that has the ability to also saw into your neck?”

“Barbed wire?”

“There would have been more blood,” Kate commented. “The scene would have been beyond gruesome.”

“And the reports say this place was pretty clean.”

“So that explains why the local PD is having such problems. But there has to be some starting place, right?”

“Well, let’s find out,” DeMarco said, slowing the car to a crawl and nodding ahead and to the right. “We’re here.”

There was a single policeman waiting for them when they pulled into the U-shaped driveway. He was sitting in his patrol car, sipping on a cup of coffee. He gave Kate and DeMarco a polite nod when they approached his car. He was dressed in uniform, and the star-shaped badge indicated he was the sheriff. If Kate had to guess, he would not be holding that position for much longer. He was easily pushing sixty; it showed the most in his brow and the almost completely gray sheen on his hair.

“Agents Wise and DeMarco,” Kate said, showing him her badge.

“Sheriff Bannerman,” the aging policeman said. “Glad you could make it up here. This case has us baffled as hell.”

“Care to walk us inside and give us the details?” Kate asked.

“Of course.”

Bannerman led them up the wide stairs onto the minimally decorated porch. Inside, the house was equally minimalist, making the already huge house look even larger. The front door opened onto a tiled foyer that gave way to a wide hall and a set of curved stairs leading to the second floor. Bannerman led them down the hallway and to the right. They entered a spacious den, the far wall occupied by a single enormous built-in bookcase. The den itself held a single elegant couch and a piano.

“The victim’s office is right through here,” Bannerman said, leading them through the den and into an area tiled in the same fashion as the foyer. A simple desk sat against the far wall. To the right, a window looked out onto a keyhole garden. A large vase of cotton plant fragments sat in the corner. It looked simple and was clearly fake, yet it fit the room nicely.